Medic
by SeascapeMural
Summary: Flightless, trine-less, alone... He is nothing, not anymore. So why did the medic come?


The flurry of noise and whirl of pulsing greens and blues sends Starscream rolling to his side, still deep in his recharge cycle. It is only when light, delicate touches pepper his frame that he finally returns to awareness, although slowly, optics onlining hazily. It takes a few kliks for the intruder to register; he hasn't thought anyone would find him here, so far from the Nemesis and all that he has been previously associated with.

But he isn't afraid; in fact, he feels a faint tingle of amusement work its way through his body, although sedately. He realizes then that the other has shot a numbing agent into his energon lines, dispelling whatever sensations are coming with his return to wakefulness.

"Knock Out?" he asks, vocals slow, nearly slurred, and he tries to sit up only to feel the heavy pressure of a servo keeping him down. He relents without much trouble, relaxing against the hard ground that he has made his temporary berth as he senses the futility in fighting whatever is to come. "What're you… doing here?" Crimson orbs dart to and fro, examining the white faceplate before him for an explanation.

A flash of dentae before the deep, almost melodious voice replies, "What? I couldn't just have been in the neighborhood?" There is a slight pause, almost as if the red medic is expecting the seeker to say something profoundly witty. When instead he is met with a wall of silence, he sighs, fetching a few tools from his subspace with one servo while feeling the silver's abdominal area with the other. "You going to tell me how you got into this mess?"

A look filled with steel and hate is sent the sportscar's way, although he can tell it isn't directed at him. No, more like a far-off, out-of-sight object is annoying the seeker, and Knock Out is merely in the way. "You going to tell me how you found me?"

The medic smiles once more, although this one doesn't reach his optics. "All in good time, _Herr Kommandant_."

"_Kommandant_," Starscream returns with mocking vocals, a self-depreciating chuckle curling the last syllable. "I am hardly worth being called as such these days. Haven't you heard? I defected." When there is no response, just the dulled feel of talons parting circuits and removing layers of plating, he continues, "Why, I am not even fit to be called a seeker anymore. I cannot fly. My trine is dead. I am alone in this world, cast out by both factions due to some sick twist of fate. _Useless._" His words grow softer and softer as he speaks until hardly any noise is escaping him at all. His optics are shuttered now, and he is so quiet that Knock Out begins to think that the seeker has slipped back into recharge.

But then there is a lurch, almost as if Starscream is convulsing, and Knock Out finds himself faceplate-to-faceplate with the seeker, shock flickering across pale features at the suddenness of the movement.

"_Why?_" the deranged mech manages to hiss, brow plates drawn forward in a combination of suspicion and confusion. "Why are you here? Is this a plot, some way to lure me back to the _Nemesis_ only so I can be terminated at long last?"

A low, insincere chuckle rumbles from the medic's chassis, and he spares the seeker's faceplate a glance before he returns to his work, gently easing Starscream back into a reclined position. "It is nothing as diabolical as that, I can assure you." His claws deftly prepare the silver mech's fuel lines for the impending surgery, fixing what damage he can find that has gone unchecked for who knows how long. His gaze is almost gentle as he returns the seeker's glare, tone unusually serious. "I am a medic; it is part of the occupational description to fix what is broken."

Starscream lets out a disbelieving huff, attempting to cross his arms over chestplate. But warmth against his forehelm stops this, and he freezes in place, watching Knock Out withdraw with an atypical stillness. "Keep still," the sportscar scolds, seeming indifferent to the kiss he has just placed upon the other.

He doesn't remember how long he sits there, watching Knock Out work, but he knows he must have entered stasis lock at least once. There is the faint acidic tint of welded metal wafting in the air, mingling with the scent of freshly-buffed finish. He does not recall witnessing the medic insert the t-cog, and now that he is conscious once more, he nearly panics, expecting the sportscar to have disappeared without a trace. He tells himself his concern is about whether the other has run off to tell Megatron his location, but he isn't sure any more, not at all.

His optics catch a faint glimpse of fading sunlight reflecting off ruby finish before he finds his lip components caught, his glossa twining around the other's longingly, frame leaning toward the source, before Knock Out pulls away, leaving the seeker wanting more. "Later, _Herr Kommandant_."

And then the red medic is gone, and Starscream is left alone to his thoughts.


End file.
